


Cool Mint

by StarshipDancer



Series: Tumblr Quirrellmort Prompts [5]
Category: A Very Potter Musical Series - Team StarKid
Genre: Angst, Dark!Voldemort, Introspection, M/M, Takes place the night before the yule ball, Voldemort has too many thoughts, fears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 21:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarshipDancer/pseuds/StarshipDancer
Summary: Anonymous asked: 32 + quirrellmort?32. "I think I'm in love with you, and I'm terrified."





	Cool Mint

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I had so much fun with this one. I wrote a different side of Voldemort than I usually do, and it was such a different experience.

“Hey… Quirrell? Are you awake?” Voldemort’s voice was quiet, raspy in the dark room. He could still taste the tingling mint of mouthwash on his tongue, and it wasn’t exactly keeping him up, per say. But it kept his brain running with nervousness, with anticipation, with… with….

With _what_ , he wasn’t entirely sure. Voldemort didn’t have much experience with _feelings_ or _caring_ or any other soft things such as those. He was familiar with violence, loathing, cruelty, death. Mostly death. He could still remember days when he _craved_ the feeling of taking a life, of watching the light leave the eyes of his victim, their bodies slumping as their blood ran cold.

Voldemort was familiar with selfishness. He never cared about what others thought, whether they were in the crosshairs of his goals or not. More than once, he’d watched one of his Death Eaters die or his cause, and he hadn’t even batted an eyelash.

Then he’d been beaten by a _motherfucking two-year-old_ , and that knocked his ego down a few notches, not gonna lie. It was hard to bounce back after that. Hell, for years, he wasn’t even sure he _would_ bounce back, but he was the _Dark Lord_. If anybody could bounce back, it would be him.

And bounce back he had, but not without help. Not without… without _Quirrell_. Quirrell, who had started out as nothing but a peon. Expendable. Another willing body, eager to please him and so afraid. He used to be able to taste that fear the way he now tasted cool mint, and he’d _fed on it_ as much as he had unicorn blood.

Somewhere along the way, things… things _changed_. Voldemort _changed_ , and Quirrell was the reason why. Sometime during this plan of his, Quirrell became less expendable and more _important_.

More important than killing the Potter boy? Than getting his body back? Voldemort didn’t know if he could answer that.

He swallowed around the reminiscent taste again, feeling a sharp pang in the heart they shared. “Quirrell? Are you… are you sleeping?”

Quirrell made no indication that he was still awake. His breathing was even, calming, soothing. Just as always, just the reminder that Quirrell was right there behind him helped settle his nerves. Voldemort should’ve been sleeping, too. Tomorrow was an important day.

Hell, tomorrow was _the day_ —the day that this entire plan had been leading up to—and Voldemort couldn’t think of anything but the man who’s body he was inhabiting.

What would it be like, Voldemort began to wonder, when he _did_ have his body back? When he and Quirrell were separate? He could look at Quirrell face-to-face, see him as more than just a vessel. As more than just an expendable peon because Quirrell was more—Quirrell was _so much more_ —and maybe that was what gave Voldemort pause. What made him reconsider, to think that maybe the part of the plan where Quirrell went to Azkaban for Voldemort’s crimes just… shouldn’t happen.

Was he… was he _caring_? Was this what it felt like to _feel_? Voldemort didn’t know, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like these doubts, these… these second thoughts. They got in the way of his grand scheme, and he couldn’t _afford_ that right now! Not when tomorrow was the day!

 _The day_!

“Quirrell.” Voldemort hated how vulnerable he sounded, how ragged and raw and _desperate_. He needed Quirrell to hear him.

He needed Quirrell to _stay asleep_.

“Quirrell,” he said again. “Quirrell, **I think I’m in love with you**.

“ ** _And I’m terrified_**.”

Voldemort had never known fear. Never known that he could feel it. Even without a body of his own, he hadn’t been afraid. He was _Lord Voldemort_. He didn’t know the taste of fear… except now he did.

And it tasted of cool mint.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at neonganymede.tumblr.com !


End file.
